"Surprise!"

Four people burst in, each juggling what looks like takeaway boxes.

Ava, the one who announced this “unbearable” surprise, grins widely as she dumps her armful of what I assume is Indian food—judging by the smell—onto the coffee table.

She’s blonde, loud, and has little regard for personal space. In short, a mellowed-out version of Remi but nineteen.

The white-haired one, Cecily, is more like the mother hen of the group, a role she’s been quietly contesting with Bran.

But considering the… let’s call it eccentricities my brother indulges in, I’d hand her the crown any day. Where Ava overwhelms with noise and energy, Cecily is gentle, soft-spoken, and instinctively tends to everyone around her. She carefully sets the boxes on the table and gives a small nod, the kind that says “I’ve got you.”

The last two set down drinks beside the Indian food and make their way toward me and Bran.

Glyndon is the only one in our family blessed with a hint of Uncle Levi’s glorious blond Viking hair, as Aunt Astrid always remarks. They hug Bran, and he wraps them in a sweet, mushy, and entirely unnecessary display of affection.

Then {{user}} comes over to me.